


I Want the Blood in My Mouth to be Yours

by subchesters



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Bloodplay, Coming Untouched, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Painplay, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subchesters/pseuds/subchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It burns him harsher than anything that has happened, anything that can happen, and this stoic silence is something that Axel hates, something that he can't get over.</p><p>Because silence means nothing is worth speaking about, nothing is worth anything, and everything that Axel had been counting on means nothing and will be nothing.</p><p><i>He</i> is nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want the Blood in My Mouth to be Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [flickrxsh](http://flickrxsh.tumblr.com/), who was my recipient for the khffxmas exchange on Tumblr.
> 
> I've been awake for thirty hours, trying to finish it on time.
> 
> So, I got interested in the dynamics between Axel and Saix, and so it prompted me to sort of explore through--I had some lovely feedback from my recipient that helped to form the vague ideas I had about writing this story, as also I'm a wee bit nervous because I've never actually tried to write Axel nor Saix in my lifetime, just that I wanted to avoid the usual tropes I've read in many AkuRoku fics once upon a time when I was fifteen, sixteen, so there's that.
> 
> I'll be be able to come back through this when I'm not feeling like I'm half out of my body.

_When I wake up, I'm afraid_   
_Somebody else might take my place_

[[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LrWwtU7iyl0)]: _Afraid_ by the Neighborhood

 

 

\- -

 

 

A thud is dulled through the walls in which the sound uses to escape its source.

Hands clench into darkened material wrapped around a body, fingers digging into the fabric, harsh in their grip. There's heat that emanates from those fingers, through black gloves, but the temperature is higher than normal, excessive to a regular human body, but that heat makes it all the more paramount in expressing just what those hands have deemed a dire situation enough to imply force in its grip.

There's a body that remains motionless against the wall, letting itself be trapped, but there's a note of unhinged emotion that flows just beneath the skin, presses against the underside, waiting for a moment, a sign, an opening to allow it to be expressed upon whichever unfortunate person that this anger decides to hold to a value of being worthy to be dealt with.

"We had a _deal_."

That one phrase is thick with heat, the underside slick with disapproval, each space is occupied with a heavy severity that fits between each letter, each syllable, until the entire phrase is too weighted for it to mean anything else but the disapproval of the current situation that warranted those words.

However, the person these weighted words are given toward crash into skin that's molded into marble, contorted to fix into an emotionless mask that doesn't seem bothered by how heated these words are, how they could blister the skin and spill the blood waiting on the underside.

Axel's face is one of displeasure, his eyes are narrowed; they're livid, emotions that swirl in them creates a vivid, acid-like green that holds an ugly sneer on the surface, mirroring the unhappy expression that has placed itself on his skin, has twisted his lips downward. His hands continue to clench into the uniform of the other man's before him, Saïx, who remains motionless, making eye contact in a way that doesn't see Axel as a threat, as someone worthy to express emotion toward.

Axel _hates_ that look, he hates _everything_ about it.

Axel knows exactly what he's threatening, not so much in words but his own body language; he knows firsthand how that icy anger and cold rage can suddenly split through Saïx's skin, rush through the gaping wounds saturated with blood and violence and gory desire, to connect with his body, that revoltingly fascinating brute force that Saïx has so deceptively covered under his blank, gold eyes.

He knows Saïx waits for anything, anyone, _something_ in order to provoke it to give him any reason to dig his fingers under their skin, wanting the feeling of blood welling in his palms, run down the gasp of his fingers, and he knows, exactly, just how much the other man enjoys it, how much he craves it. Maybe Saïx likes blood too much, likes the way it feels on his teeth, runs over his tongue, finds too much enjoyment in his teeth burying themselves into flesh, but no matter, Axel doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t mention it, doesn’t particularly care enough to find a fault with it.

(Blood on Saïx teeth, smeared down his chin, a tongue that collects it to only cause it to spread, and never has Axel wanted it back so badly that his hand finds the other's hair, purposely digs his nails into the scalp, satisfied with the grunt, a hiss that follows, before he takes back that blood with his mouth.

He doesn't care about the sting of the split in his bottom lip or the puncturing teeth marks on his neck that burn with being exposed to the air and the drying liquid iron that's stamped there.)

"This wasn't supposed to happen, and you _know_ it."

Again, Axel tries to elicit a reaction from the other man, tries digging his nails under the other man's skin, looking for those soft, vulnerable parts he knows are there, looking for anything that can prove that there's something in the other man that he can grasp for a reaction he's looking for. He's relying on past experience, he's using his usual provoking tactics and cocky agitation to draw on what is (used to be) there that he knows the other man can't resist, acting to be the blood for a shark to follow.

However, there's still nothing, there's nothing that Axel can tell that he is gaining him any ground.  
It burns him harsher than anything that has happened, anything that can happen, and this stoic silence is something that Axel hates, something that he can't get over.

Because silence means nothing is worth speaking about, nothing is worth anything, and everything that Axel had been counting on means nothing and will be nothing.

 _He_ is nothing.

The corner of Axel's top lip curls, a sneer moving in place, eyes narrowed, his entire body language conveying the barely-restrained emotion that he's constantly telling himself he doesn't feel, that isn't sandpaper placed harshly against his (non-existent, he tells himself, repeats it firmly, bruises himself with this knowledge until it hurts no more) nerves, that isn't supposed to exist in the first place; but it's always there, raking white-hot nails of feeling down his spine, connecting with every vertebrae, leaving his flesh and bone raw and festering with things that aren't supposed to exist, not anymore.

It's only a memory, it's only a phantom touch of things passed, it's supposed to be nothing.

Just like Axel will be.

(He won't be forgotten, he won't be just another pretty face with no name, nothing to his person, he refuses to be nothing.)

Every breath, every shift in his hands, all of it does nothing to extract a reaction, and Axel _hates_ it.

So maybe he wanted something more, maybe he wanted to be more than a catalog of in-the-moment, spurring acts that means something, maybe he wants something more, whatever that is, whatever phantom trace of something that desperately clings to memory to give him something to hold onto to make the situation feel more genuine instead of the hollowed-out inside of his person constantly pervading on the edges of his conscious mind.

But those are minor details in this grand scheme, something more grand, and it's about them, it's supposed to be about them, he keeps saying.

Saïx only lifts his chin, an action that looks to be the blue-haired man sizing up what is in front of him, and to an outsider, someone not used to reading into either of their body language, Saïx is determining whether or not he wants to do something, whether or not it's worth it, if Axel is worth anything, but Saïx continues to say nothing, doesn't do anything, and anything, something, is better than nothing, than this silence that tells Axel that whatever he has, whatever he is, it doesn't make a difference to Saïx.

"Nothing to say, huh? Feelin' a little guilty there, _number seven_?"

There, almost imperceptive, is the twitch of Saïx's face, the upward curl of his lip, the brief flash of disdain that filters through some indiscriminate crack in the other man's stoic look, and Axel latches onto that, digs his nails into it, trying to peel back flesh and bone and blood to get to the emotion that's buried so deeply and tightly.

There has to be a better ending to this story, there has to be something that brings this all to a meaningful climax and not this tragedy that has been a downhill battle.

"Thought I wouldn't find out, huh?" and Axel leans in, looking, searching for a reaction, for something, "think I'm not attuned to what's going on? After all," and Axel smirks, hides the deepened wound that's been festering within his being, the emptiness filled with a kind of reason that allows Axel to press onward, "I'm the one that's been watching _you_ fuck up everything."

Axel's fingers twitch, his nerves wanting to call forth heat, wants to turn his rage into something more tangible, bring all of it into the physical world. His temperature burns higher, the heat ready to turn explosive, his weapons are ready to be drawn forth into the air; everything inside Axel is poised for battle, to cause ruin, needing to make something destructive.

Impulse has always been a weak point.

However, he doesn't do any of that, he doesn't do what is classically his character.

There's a bigger task at hand.

"I'm doing exactly what we planned, _number eight_ ," and there's an undertone of offense, something that is beginning to well up into the empty space, "is it to be my fault that you're letting personal feelings into this deal affect your judgement?"

Axel almost gives in, his fingers charring with energy that's so close to burning the seams of his body, but instead, he only smirks wider, steadies himself, and, "oh, really?" and he lets that cocky tone wash over his words, "what a coincidence you say that," and Axel leans in, brings their faces closer (too close, _too close_ —he doesn't need to go any farther, not when he'll—), keeps his eyes locked with the other, not offering a moment's doubt to him backing down, pulling the other man's collar to bring him closer, "because someone is starting to look like a dog in heat around the _Superior_ ," and Axel lets all his disdain and mocking gesture fill the spaces of that word, delighting in the way he's getting some kind of reaction, even if it's just words.

Another twitch at the corner of Saïx's mouth, more pronounced, and that's all that Axel's given before there’s a jerk under his fingers, a perpetual motion that happens so quick, and there's air the grates passed his ears and out his lungs when his back finds the sturdy, unmoving presence of a wall, the impact shocking up his spine, into his fingers. Axel has to clear the shakiness from his mind and sharpen his senses because maybe, _just maybe_ , he's pushed a little too hard and the edge he was very aware of having come too close to be fallen off from.

Axel places that cocky smirk back on his face, orients his body into an arrogant slouch, trying to convey an image of repeated disdain and an uncaring derisive pose as his gaze finds amber eyes with a smoldering, barely-restrained anger and (oh, isn't that _nice_?) upset that has pushed to the forefront and settled in firmly.

"I'm following what we _planned_ ," and there's a threatening undertone that slicks against the bottom of the words, "and what we planned—" Saïx presses forward, eyes narrowing further, keeping his vice in some kind of neutral tone, knowing that anger must be bleeding through some wound and onto his words, "is happening is exactly how it's supposed to go."

There's a snort that climbs Axel's throat so quickly that he doesn't catch it by the time it's moving out his throat, watching with a kind of sadistic glee when Saïx's jaw tenses, the muscle jumping in holding back that almost permeable, tangent rage that the other is so good and well known for.

(Finger bruises on his hips, pasted against his thighs, the dark color so nicely contrasting against skin with subtle touches of the sun leftover from a previous life he doesn't care for, the feeling sharp and vivid against his senses.

Sometimes, Axel touches his fingers to them, covers them with his palm, an echo of curiosity pulled from a memory to help fuel his curiosity about them.

He presses against them, putting more pressure against them to pull on the sharpening feeling against his nerves these bruises create, wanting them to be darker, filled with more blood, just more feeling as everything about them is so lovely when he thinks about the context in which they were inflected against his skin.

How he wants Saïx to run through his soul with the unhinged way again just to feel again.)

Saïx has never been impressed with Axel's show of cocky defiance and smartass retorts, never let it bother him because why should he care about Axel, why should he give the red-haired man any attention or effort beyond this unlikely partnership they've developed and used for their own self-gain. He knows they're both using each other, he knows there's nothing there beyond this business deal, so why, exactly, should he have to spare this man any type of kinship or cordial interactions?

Still, it grates on him like nothing else, and he hates every moment of it.

Instead, Saïx tilts his head, leaning in, "or is it that _you_ are letting personal feelings get involved?" because he can definitely play Axel's game, he can so choose to give back what the other man is trying to elicit from him, whatever it may be, he doesn't really care, but he's not going to let himself be fed to Axel's desire of chaos and all the other little destructive games the younger man likes to indulge in, all to get a rise from him, to get some reaction that somehow fulfills whatever purpose he has planned?

He will not be the subservient one in this game.

"You think you can toss all those accusations around and not expect anyone to wonder if it's _you_ who's losing sight of what we originally agreed on?"

Axel only continues to smirk, that infuriating look trying to press under the blue-haired man's skin, tries to get into his blood, and Saïx has the urge to get rid of it, make sure it doesn't come back, but he doesn't give Axel the satisfaction of going any further, knowing that fuel any type of animosity to this already-crumbling relationship.

"Oh," and the way the sound comes from Axel's throat is one of sarcastic wonder, "do share with the class, now, how you're not letting the Superior look at you like you're his personal dog?"

"You know _exactly_ what I'm doing— _you’re_ the one who came up with it in the first place," and Saïx's voice lowers, drips with a smoothened tone that almost does well to hide his growing irritation at the other man's words, not liking the implication behind any of them that is thrown his way.

"I specifically remember that you're supposed to be the one to get close to the Superior," and with that, the green-eyed man can feel a sharp, glare of something settle into his chest, pressed against the inside of his ribs, but he swallows that down, not liking any of it, "and getting close doesn't mean crawling on his lap and hoping he'd give you a pity fuck."

"It's not like that and you _know_ it," and there it is, the snap, the crack that shakes the foundation that finally tumbles down on its foundation of sand. The words slams into Axel's face as hot breath, rushing against his skin as though it could actually do him harm as it's the first traces of the Nobody's anger finally bleeding through, crawling close enough to the surface to let its presence be known.

Axel knows he should take this easier, ease this situation into something more civil before there's a chance of something like a casualty happening but when has Axel ever cared about the destruction that could lay in the wake of it, when has he ever cared about something that wasn't his own gain and damn the consequences that come after it? He doesn't, he shouldn't, and why should he start caring now?

(Ignore that voice, the one that slips through the cracks of his conscious that has a low whisper of all things that he likes to deny. Shut it down, swallow it back and continue to smile that cocky look that grates every superior Nobody's being in a way they aren't supposed to feel anymore.)

"Oh, well excuse me for not being the one to hop in bed with the Superior on will," and that definitely gets more of a reaction from the older Nobody. Saïx is pressing harshly against this body, rage palpable in the way his body is locked up, and Axel silently congratulates himself for not pulling away, for not showing that he's ready to strike out, lash against the figure that he's been challenging.

"You will not speak about things you don't know about—"

"Really, when we both made this plan, don't act like I won't know when things are getting off track."

There's a low growl crouched in Saïx's lungs, his teeth aching to feel blood on them, the phantom touch of it almost so real, so tempting. The skin of the other man's calls to him, a temptation to mark it with his presence and (not) emotion and everything else that he hates until there's nothing to bite against, nothing to sink his teeth into, until it's too bloody and ravaged and destroyed to even be considered anything anymore.

And then some more.

And then there's an idea, a thought that spears itself to the forefront of his mind that makes Saïx pause, images of blood and violence under his fingers and through his teeth halting in their rise in his subconscious.

"Unless," and Axel's brows twitch at the sudden change in the other Nobody's tone, the mood eased to a point that catches Axel's interest, "there's something that you're not telling me."

Axel's left confused but yet, something resembling curiosity spilling into his system. He still tries to maintain the typical behavior he's well-known for, even if it feels like he's forcing too much out into the open, it's still better than letting Saïx find some kind of advantage to turn this around on him.

Saïx's face smooths out, the x-shaped scar on the bridge of his nose becomes less stressed, and all that surface anger begins to recede back into the background as that always unshaped, vague craving that can be easily ignored. Saïx allows his lips to somewhat curl, a vague contempt beginning to smooth over his features, watching closely how Axel narrows his eyes, his body tensing under his fingers, smelling the heat of Axel’s body beginning to rise, that temper trying to breach the surface of his already-preoccupied mind.

“It’s so strange how you’re accusing me of getting my personal feelings involved when you,” and Saïx moves closer, allows his chest to push against the other man’s, just enough to allow his point to smoothly glide towards the other Nobody’s body, watching with a vague and vicious satisfaction as that boastful sneer has started slipping from Axel’s skin, “are acting exactly like your feelings are getting hurt.”

The younger Nobody lets himself pause for a moment, trying to shift through his converged material for something that can resemble some kind of comeback, not liking how Saïx is gaining some kind of upper hand here, getting more leeway than what Axel had been expecting, but he can hardly come up with anything—anything that doesn’t sound like some half-assed, mediocre string of words that doesn’t do enough of a job to divert the attention from his person.

Instead, Axel decides to not play into what he suspects Saïx has concocted, deciding that if he can’t outsmart the blue-haired Nobody, he’s going to change tactics, he’s going to veer off into a completely new direction in hopes of gaining the upper hand again.

He can be cunning and just as devious as Saïx’s rage is as explosive and all-consuming of anything in its path.

“Why so interested in me all of a sudden?” and he calls forth that nonchalant demeanor in his voice, keeps his voice laid back and uncaring, “and here I thought you only cared for my body.”

“Cut the shit, _Axel_ ,” And Saïx isn’t pleased about Axel’s sudden change and his need to play games to shift easily around the problem, he’s so tired of this push and pull that has been rising steadily between them. He hates this developing power struggle, he hates the way they’ve been coming together lately, he just—

Letting his fingers cause self-indulgent destruction seems so much better than allowing the reminiscent feeling of emotions begging to pry into his being.

“Oh, my, struck a nerve, huh? And here I thought you couldn’t—”

Axel doesn’t get far very fast, his words are severed in his throat to drop back into his lungs because Saïx decided to wrench his hands toward his body (and, oh, Axel forgot that Saïx has ahold of his coat, forgot to listen to the slight sound of ripping since the blue-haired Nobody had been digging his fingers into it, using it to keep his hands from Axel’s body, from his face, from his—from his—)

(There, seated oh-so comfortably in a darkened, barely-lit room in his mind, with tones of low glee, derisive in its presence, coming to whisper softly about what he’d like most to do with his hands, what he’s missed, what he’s craved, what can help burn away that vague, lurking craving that sits at the back of his mind, watching, waiting, knowing when an opportunity will come to freely descend his spine and through the edgy nerves of his body.)

But all of that’s just some memory of what it feels like to possess something other than indifference.

None of it’s real, none of it exists anymore.

He should get over himself.

Axel finds himself nearly nose to nose with the other man, amber-colored eyes searing into his own acidic green, barely-restrained emotion (isn’t that _rich_?) that broils beneath, and for a moment, Axel considers backing down, considers all kinds of things that he’d never care enough to do, and for once, maybe rationality will win, it’ll save his body from claw wounds and teeth marks, and everything that can remind him of a past wanting to be forgotten.

However, it doesn’t matter, it never did matter, not where Axel is concerned, so he’s going to let this play out, he’s going to let all of it culminate into something beautifully tragic.

He’ll gladly cut himself on the pieces this’ll leave behind.

Even if for a moment, he can have the emotion coursing through his veins like the fire that always tries to burn his body up when he’s not careful.

They lock eyes, either force coming to a stalemate but searching for a weakness, a soft part left unguarded, anything to gain the upper hand. Axel figures he could let the heat that’s been lurking under his fingers, waiting for him to do something, wanting release, building steadily until Axel thinks he can feel his gloves starting to melt over his fingers, to be released and find the other’s body.

The smell of something burning has always been pleasant to Axel.

It occurs to Axel then, how belated the thought is doesn’t matter, but they’re in the open, they’re placed against a wall of vulnerability and exposure and that feeds on the length of time either spends there, unable to sty but unwilling to go, neither fully recognizing the severity of their current position.

Anyone, any person (or that keyblade master, but that’s a different plan that’s been in the making for another time) can walk in, can hear everything they’re speaking, all of their plans, from the coup to who they’re plotting against, and as much as that makes Axel uneasy, knowing better than this to cover his tracks, but doesn’t let it shows. He lets it come out in some arrogant tone, filled with boastful knowing as, “as much as this tea party’s a blast, we may have an uninvited audience with us,” and that gets Saïx’s attention, but Axel’s feeling like pushing his luck today (but when has he never felt like that?), “wouldn’t want the _Superior_ ,” and it’s amazing how much derision Axel can place onto that one word without changing his cocky attitude, “to know his newest lap dog is trying to bite the hand that feeds it _yet_.”

Just as Axel predicted, it’s a desired effect, so desired that there’s a force against his face, causes his head to jerk, and that bitter tang of copper to seem onto his tongue, curl down the left side of his lip, but that still doesn’t deter him, almost happy that Saïx has done something, something absolutely wonderful and Axel doesn’t even care anymore.

Axel turns his head back, eyes half-lidded, and his tongue darts out, collects the blood that has escaped his mouth back in, lingering over a newly-developed split there, almost reveling in the slight sting from exposed nerves and raw feeling that’s making its way through his body, clawing at his nerves, and Axel feels almost giddy about it.

“My, my, the Superior’s new puppy _does_ have a little bite,” and he’s pushing so far, too far. Axel isn’t foolish enough to know that Saïx isn’t putting up with Axel’s jeers and underhanded jabs out of the goodness of his (lack-thereof) heart, knows the blood on his tongue (how he wishes it were Saïx’s, how utterly _lovely_ that would be) is a testimony to how this is clearly hanging by a fraying threat, ready to snap at any moment’s notice, and the whiplash that Axel knows is coming will certainly be a thrill, as much as he knows he shouldn’t be wishing for that, he shouldn’t be wishing for anything other than getting out of this intact with some kind of sanity that he’s been finding himself lacking.

And those were the right words to say as a hand finds his throat, nails place themselves deep into his skin, settled against his throat so threateningly, soft violence just barely a breath away.

“What’s that? You gonna bite me today?” and Axel should really keep his mouth shut, he knows he’s being stupid, but what’s the fun in life if one’s constantly careful, avoiding all the paths that could even cause a hitch in a plan? Besides, he’s much enjoying this, seeing the other Nobody trying to restrain himself because he knows what’s at stake, he knows that if something is done in this moment, something will come to the surface, something that has been in hiding in plain sight for so long.

Whatever that is, Axel’s certainly curious.

“You’re certainly a mouthy one today, _number eight_ ,” and ah, yes, back to formal titles—how lovely, how stunning, bravo and a brownie point for Saïx for this original concept that he’s come up with. He may win a national ward for this, such original content, how can Axel ever want to be conniving and deliberately contrite and difficult in the face of this?

“That’s not something _you’ve_ ever complained about,” and if there’s a breath of bitterness between the spaces of those words, the other man doesn’t let on, the only visible reaction being the narrowing of gold-colored eyes.

“Not like you’ve ever tried to not be one.”

“That one hurt,” is false hurt from Axel’s tongue, placing a hand over the space where a heart would be, “right in here,” and Axel feels the tightening of Saïx’s fist and with every threatening twitch of those fingers is the increasing urge to let fire eat at his hands, to feel that familiar sear of heat crawling through his veins, scraping against the inside, pressing to the underside of his skin. It’s so close, his chakrams beckon to be given a physical form to deal with this man in front of him that stands as some kind of end to an ultimatum, one that Axel doesn’t think about, never does think about, certainly not now.

“Hurt?” and Saïx tilts his head, his fingers easing in pressure, “when have you ever considered,” and he presses closer, “anything that has hurt the others—” hot breath barely reaches the red-haired Nobody’s face, “because of your actions?”

For whatever cosmic force is out there, Axel wants to feel affronted by that, he doesn’t like the way it sounds coming from the other’s throat. Instead, Axel only smirks, “and I suppose that you’re a crowning achievement in hospitality and positive mental health?”

This conversation is going nowhere, Saïx can tell, as everything is going in circles, the edges getting wider and wider as they wind along, getting farther from the point but still on this track, and Saïx hates how Axel is weaseling his way out of it, distracting them from what’s been brewing with vitriolic ingredients and corrosive components that are sensitive to combustion, and that simply won’t do, none of this will do, not with the way the cerulean-haired man is feeling.

If only he possessed that cunning and suspicious nature of some of the original six Nobodies, those _prodigy_ students that are so coveted, he could deal with Axel’s insubordination, preferably with his hands, with his nails racking down that back, watch with fascination as blood follows his nails, eager to be touched, see the welts appear, and maybe it calls to him, that blood tells him all kinds of sweet nothings, antifreeze sweet in that it coaxes him into that downfall he used to partake in.

(He wants…)

Now’s not the time for that, it’s time passed into an obsolete memory now.

“As fun as this is,” and that catches Saïx’s attention, “we’ve gotta take this to somewhere where your master, “and those fingers tighten again, a snarl lodged in the older Nobody’s throat, “isn’t around to stumble upon this—especially those pesky basement dwellers, specifically _Vexen_ ,” and before the long-haired man can make a comment (or a snarl, a threatening movement of his fingers and it’ll be done, Axel will be no more, just be limp bones and weighted flesh all from a little twist to his neck. He could do it, he could—) there’s a pull of dark energy, recognizing it as Axel pull up a portal, stepping back quickly, dragging the other Nobody with him.

It’s okay, it’s _fine_ (how nice of that to taste on his tongue, bitter in its aftertaste, acrid and not as satisfying as Axel might have thought), Axel’s just trying to protect the Superior’s precious, _precious_ new lapdog (and doesn’t that have a nice ring to it, the tone completely off) and bring them to a nice, safe place in the castle away from prying eyes and curious ears (and pesky noses, as Axel’s sure basement dweller number three— _ahem, Zexion_ , could possibly trace him anywhere in the castle, but Axel doesn’t want to take risks).

They’re in some secluded part of the castle, hardly inhabited by anything other than oxygen. The portal opens and out comes Axel, neck free of Saïx’s grip, but the sign of finger-like marks placed against the skin, and for a moment, Axel wants to reach up and touch them—remove his gloves, allow the pads of his fingers to trace along them, pressing down to feel the blunt pain that will shock through his system. Run the pads of his fingers down each mark, study them, and inevitably draw forth memories of passed about where these types come from.

If he tries hard enough, he can remember iron in his mouth and on his neck, his tongue swabbing over it and pronouncing each sting of pain, all the while nails not of his own run down his back, scratches into his already-sore skin, but revels in it, craves it, and hair tickling against his back before there’s hands on his backside, hot breath that burns hotter than any fire that Axel’s ever willingly awn forth before it’s all focused on one spot, pressing forward, up, and into his body as wet heat, will and fervent, as hands pry him apart slicks all around him, inside, out, drops with spit as it eats him out.)

What a time that was before everything collapsed into dust and debris around his being in a beautiful array of destruction of crushed hopes and farfetched dreams.

Axel gives himself a moment of reprieve, breathing in, letting the ache of his neck flow through his body, the soreness from his jaw from where Saïx hit him again, he touches his fingers to his mouth, pushing on the skin, reasoning that he was checking for damage, he was making sure nothing was dislocated but really, he doesn’t resist the need to feel the phantom touch).

And the arrival of Saïx tells Axel that he’s no longer alone, for however brief it was, and so he removes his hand from his face, doesn’t let himself entertain the idea of even becoming tempted to touch it again, and instead, squares his shoulders, puts on that cocky smirk everyone knows and hates, but that never bothered Axel, none of it’s supposed to, especially with the little predicament of non-existent heart for all those little emotions to come from.

No skin off his back.

Axel waits for something, anything, wanting to see Saïx would resume, if he’d get his hands wrapped back around Axel’s throat, if running his nails over Axel’s face will get a response, will get some kind of emotional reaction (why is he entertaining thoughts of things that can’t possibly exist without a source, one that all of them lack?) that will let him know that Saïx is having some kind of second thoughts, and if so, Axel can cut his ties, he can forget about this whole thing because this isn’t getting anywhere, all of it is falling apart, and Axel knows where to quit.

He’s not going to dig around for scraps of something that can possibly happen.

(As much as it sits like a pungent aftertaste on the back of his tongue.)

Axel turns his back, gives the impression that he doesn’t really care, that this is just some pit stop and nothing more, nothing less.

Perhaps this is a bad idea, starting with a rush of air, an impact against his back, and the floor is the next step for his knees to go to. Sure, that was a bad idea to turn his back, but of course, Axel likes to provoke, he likes to push, he likes to see just how far he can go before something snaps and can’t be repaired, and really, the other blue-haired Nobody is so predictable with all that rage, that anger, that need to do something with it before it becomes something else entirely.

A smirk splits Axel’s face, self-assured and satisfied, as he is pleased with the outcome of these events.

He ganders a chance and looks behind him, seeing traces of something feral in his superior’s face, and something akin to a heat flares at the ends of his nerves, sparking white-hot and consuming. A hand finds its way into the ruby-like color of Axel’s hair, harsh grip on his spiky hairy, spine arching inward to accommodate the position, but all the while, that self-satisfied, slightly unhinged grin is still on his face, knowing that in some way, he’s won this, he’s taken the entire war and dealt such a severe hand that the other man has no choice but to yield to the monster that is desire against his skin and mind and nerves.

“You’re _such_ ,” and there’s a roughened, glass-edged voice that eats at the skin of his neck, teeth that sink into his skin with familiarity, and pain that glares sharp and bright that finds the nerves of his body as Saïx breaks the skin, drawn back to tongue at it, his tongue pressing flat and harsh to the wound, gathering salt and iron and liquid against it before, “a cocky little _shit_ ,” and his unoccupied hand finds the front of Axel’s coat, to the zipper, before yanking at it, uncaring of the slight resistance it gives before it snaps, the material screeching in protest from being ripped away.

The older Nobody’s hand immediately seeks to greet the hot skin underneath, nails blunt under the gloves that he wears, almost flexing his finger enough to allow his nails to cut through the leather material, just so he can inflict his own marks across that slowly-paling chest, not enough sunlight like his previous person got to have as the castle continues to eat away at anything and everything that might have come from the past, that could remind them of anything they used to be.

Xemnas likes it better like that, he likes it when there’s nothing to stand in the way of a mission, things like personal feelings are too pesky, they’re a liability, and it’s better to forget, it’s better to be something different because who needs connections from the past to slow them down, to give them morality, to give them anything that could make them hesitant on wanting to move forward. Certainly not Axel, certainly not the man with teeth in his neck, nails blunted across his chest, and lungs that can’t work hard enough to pull in enough oxygen to sustain his suddenly-starving body.

What better way to have a no strings attached relationship than to not feel anything or care?

“Well, aren’t you still in a pissy little mood," is almost breathless, would be if not for the cocky sneer that still refuses to go away, and it irks Saïx like nothing else. He wants to get rid of it, he wants that arrogant tone _gone_. Instead, Saïx pulls his hand back, his teeth grasp onto a finger of the glove he’s wearing, tearing it off, almost viciously, somewhat of an overkill, but he doesn’t care—he fucking hates that tone, he hates it when Axel is indifferent to him, he hates that smirk, he hates that hair that his hand nearly tries to rip from that scalp, he just hates Axel _so much_ —

And that’s why it burns hot for him to get that all to _shut the fuck up_ —

“Impatient, aren’t we?” and again, that tone, “and who said about getting _personal feelings_ involved, eh?” and it grates his nerves so much, because Axel is still talking as breezily and easily as he pleases, and the older Nobody has to do something, has to get to shut— _up_ —

This is by no means some kind of pity thing, like this is going to make everything between them smooth and airy, like they can just fall into each other’s arms they’ll get to the part where everyone I finally happy and all will be forgiven even when they know they both don’t deserve it, will never deserve it.

They don’t care, they never will care.

It’s impossible to care.

With his hand moving from Axel’s hair, to one shoulder as Saïx’s hand grips at a loose jacket lapel to turn the other man around before roughly pushing him back, the scrape of bodies moving across the floor, the sounds of their jackets stretching uncomfortably, barely able to keep itself from tearing. The more superior Nobody has decided he’s had enough, he’s not going to let something like this continue, not while he has the chance to stop Axel’s insistent cockiness.

However, what greets the blue-haired Nobody is that same infuriating look, one that Saïx visibly snarls at, before a hand finds his own hair, the grip harsh, pulling him down, and the last thing he sees is viridian eyes challenging him, daring him to fight back, daring him to do anything, and Saïx, ever the one to never disappoint, collides his lips with Axel’s, the force of his rattling against his teeth before there’s a tongue tracing harshly against them, across his canine when he can taste a hint of blood.

He follows Axel’s tongue, fighting for the blood that has been inevitably spilled, wrestling it back from Axel, claiming it as his own, and only for him, Axel’s legs have come up, bent at the knee at his heels rest against the ground, thighs bracketing Saïx’s body, all the while the red-haired Nobody grips at his hair harshly, using it as leverage.

The other Nobody retaliates with placing his left hand on Axel’s thigh, his grip turning unforgiving as he presses his fingers against the skin, gripping it with more force than necessary, but he doesn’t care, he never really does, and Axel certainly has never voiced any qualms about it. Axel certainly voices his appeasement at the hard grip, the way Saïx’s fingers indent into the skin and muscle there, moving his thigh, obviously still trying to get a rise out of the scarred Nobody, until he lets out a low snarl, tightening his grip around the younger Nobody’s thigh, deciding he’s had enough.

He moves his mouth from Axel’s lips, teeth snagging onto random patches of skin, his canines getting precariously close to breaking the skin, from spilling more blood and as that is enticing as it is tempting, he’s not really looking for that. He moves down Axel’s neck all the while fighting the hold Axel still has on his hair, pulling harshly at the strands, so he bites Axel’s neck, teeth closing around muscle, blood coming to slam against the underside of the skin, waiting for the moment that the skin is broken to escape.

Saïx doesn’t worry at the skin, doesn’t soothe it over with his tongue, doesn’t try to make is a sensual, languid-like pace—no, he’s not here for that, Axel’s not here for that, and it was never that kind of priority.

It’s just some no-strings attached relationship, right?

( _Of course it is_ , gives a saccharine voice, the sweetness of it like rotted fruit, _isn’t is always?_ )

Saïx doesn’t bother in removing the now shredded tatters of Axel’s cloak, only wedging his fingers under the material, gripping it harshly before he rips off enough to be satisfied to get to new, unblemished patches of skin, where he can lay those petals of bruises across this man’s skin, mar it, make it like rotting flesh under his fingers, knowing that he’s the one who gets a say in whether or not Axel leaves without enough proof on his body to say that Saïx exists, he’s a real being, a (not) person.

Axel’s back arches, teeth gritting when the other man’s teeth find his collarbones, teeth grazing harshly across the skin and muscle-covered bone, knowing that the other man’s teeth are scratching against his skin enough to leave angry, red welts in their wake, bruising only minutes later, but he wants it that way, it’s better this way.

(Where he can find his own private time, on his own terms, where he can press his fingers against them, keep pressure in them, almost as if he can draw on the feel just hours previously to maybe, just maybe, relive those teeth in his skin, threatening to spill too much in their wake.)

There’s a rough moan that unhinges from his throat as Saïx’s teeth and mouth finds one of nipples, teeth wrapping around it harshly, pulling, pressing his tongue flat against it, hot breath spearing across any spit left behind, heightening the temperature difference, causing goosebumps to follow wherever that breath goes. Saïx’s hands find the red-headed man’s sides, nails pressing against the skin, red welts blooming in full from under the pressure and irritation that is impressed upon on the skin, and Axel arches gain, pressing his head back into the ground, feeling some of the spikes of his hair caught under his back, pulling on his scalp but not caring, remembering the feeling of the other man’s hand in his hair, pulling, tugging, harshly gripping it to the point where he might have pulled something out, but as of now, Axel couldn’t care.

(He doesn’t care, he _doesn’t_ —)

Axel grits his teeth but can’t help the sound of approval that comes from him when Saïx reaches his hipbones, teeth fitting over the protruding bone, skin clenched between teeth so harshly it almost breaks, and the blue-haired Nobody pulls and tugs on the skin, licking the salt from the skin, gathering off anything that might vaguely resembles clean skin that hasn’t been blemished, that hasn’t been marked, destroyed and in tatters.

He wants something more, he needs something else as he he’s between Axel’s legs, as he was grinding himself against the cool floor, finding nothing to relieve his rapidly-aching cock, having so much stress and tension inside his body that he hadn’t realized just how much he needed this, that the coil inside his body was too wound up, was in danger of snapping ad letting some other unfortunate soul come across him in some accidental crossing of paths.

Instead of letting the other man know about his abrupt change in need, he wedges both hands under Axel’s ass, grasping at the material of the shredded cloak and pulling Axel’s hips down, temporarily seated against Saïx’s hips before lifting them up, removing one hand to tear away any material that was in his way to getting to what he wanted at that moment; when all the material was gone, when he didn’t have to worry about anything in the way, he moves Axel’s hips, not caring for the harsh slide of Axel’s back against the ground, and as he got Axel’s hips in the air, positioned just right, bent at the preferred angle, he dives his face forward and begins to determinedly eat Axel out.

There’s no forewarning, there’s nothing to suggest that Saïx was getting ready to do that and it catches Axel completely off guard, eyes widening before his head falls back as he feels the blue-haired man’s tongue shoving passed his entrance, immediately setting a harsh and fervent pace. Axel’s chest heaves, his back tries to arch but at the angle he’s been position into, he can’t exactly do that, and so instead, he lets his voice come up with all the things he needs, all the things he wants, and voices them in words almost incomprehensible.

“Yeah, just like that,” and his voice is rough and thirst-filled, “fuck—just— _yeah_ , like that,” and there’s a particular harsh lick, followed by a powerful suck to his rim that gets Axel clenching his teeth, breathing through his teeth, and then, “fuck, you’re so good at this,” and he can’t really think beyond the now and who cares about the past, who cares about anything that doesn’t involve Saïx’s tongue pushed as far as it can go inside his body?

Saïx maneuvers his hands to get them placed on Axel’s ass, spreading the cheeks apart to get farther, feeling spit beginning to well up and drip down the sides, uncaring of how sloppy-wet Axel is becoming. He pulls back, keeping Axel exposed, keeping his cheeks pulled apart to blow cool air against it, watching Axel clench up, the other man diving back in as he’s rewarding the red-haired man rewards the older Nobody with a drawn-out moan from pushing his tongue back.

The blue-haired man digs his nails just enough to give a sting, as he tries to push his tongue in as far as he can go and wriggles it around, pulling back, constantly craning his neck as he keeps giving merciless sucks and licks and bites against Axel’s hole, giving short and quick jabs of his tongue into the other Nobody, almost at a point where he’s becoming satisfied with the sounds that Axel is making, sure enough that the other man isn’t giving his irritating smirk, that arrogant laugh that says Axel knows something everyone else doesn’t.

It is a nice change.

He realizes Axel is saying something but not stopping, catching, “I’m close,” and, “ _fuck_ , Saïx, keep going, keep—” before it cuts off to a sound that isn’t patient enough to wait.

He can do it, make Axel come from just eating him out, not touching him, only licking far enough to go across Axel’s taint, barely touching the base of his balls, not really caring to go any farther. So he increases his fervor, the power behind his strokes, almost stabbing his tongue into Axel’s body, trying to retrieve the best sound he possibly can from the other man.

“Come on, I know—come _on_ ,” and Axel’s voice is getting impatient, and Saïx wants to smirk, gloat at the younger Nobody, but he doesn’t pull away, finding himself too turned on to want to stop, listening to the staccato of desperation in Axel’s voice, “you can make me come like this— _just_ like this,” as Axel tries to push his hips up, but still, the angle is unforgiving, and the older Nobody has tightened his grip, not allowing Axel much room to produce even a somewhat dexterous move.

And so Saïx buries his face back into Axel’s ass, completely losing himself in eating Axel out, getting his so wet and spit-slick, feeling the way Axel is clenching around his tongue, the trembling in his thighs, his fingers scrambling for something to hold onto. Saïx hums, the vibrations traveling through Axel’s body, and a, “fuck— _god_ —” is quick to follow, almost breathless, followed by heavy panting, small moans, and even more words of filth that flow as water between Axel’s lips, all of it ranging from, “I need you to _fuck me_ ,” and, “make me come with your tongue—so close—so _close_ ,” or whenever Saïx does something particularly amazing or some godsend move, everything melts into half-bitten off pleas to a god that probably stopped listening a long time ago.

And then, Axel’s coming, a litany of, “I’m co—… I’m— _fuck_ , Sa _ïx_ , _I’m_ — _ngh_ ,”and Axel’s body locks up, a gasp from his lungs landing heavily outside his body, and Axel’s coming, all over his chest and some landing on his neck, sweat-slick hair sticking to his neck and shoulders. Saïx’s eyes are locked onto the beads of sweat that are blooming everywhere on Axel’s chest, on his neck, mixing in with the red, angry-looking bite marks, the blood underneath ready and willing to be spilled, and Saïx is so aware of his own hardness, his own need for release.

He drops Axel’s legs, letting them clatter against the floor, while he reaches into his own uncomfortable cloak, taking out a potion, figuring since there’s no missions to go on, there’s nothing to use it for, he might as well use it for something.

Axel hasn’t quite recovered from his orgasm, and it temporarily makes him pliable, albeit slow to move, but that works just fine, it doesn’t matter to either of them (if Axel were in his regular mind and not coming down from post-orgasm bliss, he’d, no doubt, make some smartass comment which is something the long-haired Nobody isn’t going to allow Axel a mere moment to even think of it), and as he gets Axel on his front, at least his knees on the floor as the red-haired Nobody’s front rests on the ground, arms as useless as his current speed and agility, Saïx tears open his own uniform, not caring about how destroyed it is, only mindlessly wanting to get rid of his erection.

He hisses when he almost clumsily coats himself in the potion, the harsh feeling of arousal almost shocking him. He takes enough potion to coat his fingers and press them into the red head, who makes a sound, whether it be from overstimulation or approval, Saïx doesn’t really know, not does he care to differentiate the two, just concerned with the task of getting as much of the potion inside Axel to make this an easier glide, re-coating himself in the process before he’s satisfied.

He doesn’t take it slow, lining up and pushing in, quick and fast, immediately seating himself, hearing the clenched sound from Axel, his hair having started to fall into the younger Nobody’s face, strands slick with sweat and sticking because of the extra weight and moisture.

And Saïx pulls out only to thrust back in faster, steadying his knees, trying to find the perfect leverage in which to fuck the red head below him. Gripping both hips, the older Nobody drives forward, nails tightening against the already-tattered and bruised skin, almost slipping against the collected moisture that was already there, trying to reestablish a hold on them, causing his fingers to tighten, his nails to dig. The older Nobody grits his teeth, eyes almost falling closed, as the heat of Axel’s body closes in around him, on all sides.

It’s an added bonus that Axel’s element is fire, his temperature being higher than that of a regular Nobody, and there’s just _so much heat_ , so much slick pleasure that accompanies it, and Saïx could swear Axel’s body is trying to draw him into some inferno, some kind of heat-drenched place that could easily suffocate and burn his lungs out of his body, where fire sinks down his throat, but he can handle this, he can take all of this on.

And in the process, take Axel’s body.

He leans over the other Nobody, panting roughly, his hair slick at the roots with sweat, darkening the shades of blue that already exist, dropping to cascading against Axel’s back. He thrusts harder, not having built up a gentle rhythm before, and before he can tell, there’s loud slaps of skin, grunts that accompany the sounds, and before long, Saïx is fucking into Axel at such a fast, hard rate that the red-haired man’s knees are straining against the floor, trying to not slide, while Axel’s front remains on the ground, panting roughly and hotly.

Saïx gives a hard, long thrust, keeping himself still, grinding into the other Nobody’s body, listening to Axel almost positively _keen_ in the process, throat tightening around the sound, before the amber-eyed man does it again, and again, repeatedly, until he gets that whine from Axel.

And again, he changes his tactics: he reaches forward, griping at the sweat-slick hair, pulling it back until Axel has no choice. Getting on his knees, back curving inward until Axel can only rest his head on Saïx’s shoulder, unable to do anything at which the other man has his body oriented in. Axel reaches a hand up, grips onto Saïx’s shoulders, and lets Saïx fuck him, fingers still latched into Axel’s hair, keeping he at that angle, thrusting up, angling himself, knowing exactly how easily this position has put Axel in to reach tha—

“Oh, fuck— _god_ —” and that’s exactly what Saïx was looking for, smug satisfaction smearing into his blood, satisfied that now Axel can’t make some smartass comment or taunt or jab, because Saïx’s so fucking deep inside the other man, making it impossible for the red-haired Nobody to even think about anything, let alone the need to by severely annoying.

Axel’s mouth hangs agape, and spit has partially leaked out onto his chin, eyes glazed over, and all of it, staring _directly_ at Saïx, all of that poised heat and thirst and _everything_ —all of it aimed at Saïx.

Within the limited reasoning of his mind, Saïx thinks it’s because Axel’s in the moment, he’s not thinking (how can he?), and because of there’s so much heat, there’s so much feeling, he can’t help but give in, he _lets_ himself give in, and cranes his head in to devour Axel’s mouth.

The kiss is sloppy, it’s wet, there isn’t really a path chosen—it’s all tongue and spit leaking down their mouths, hot breath trying to escape, all the while tongue rove over the other, sliding passed each other until they can’t maintain enough brain function to keep that up, instead, just breathing closely to the other, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but ride it all out.

And it’s almost at an end, as Axel moves his hand not clutching at Saïx’s shoulder toward his cock but the blue-haired man abruptly stops, a warning under the heat of his words, “ _no_ ,” and he thrusts up harder, sharp in the movement, “you will come,” and another sharp thrust, “just,” and another, and Axel suppresses another sound, breathing harshly, “like,” and the grip in Axel’s hair tightens, “ _this_.”

Axel lets out a hoarse cry, his mind unable to process anything beyond the need to come. His cock is so painfully hard, his body is screaming for release, knees are pleading for relief, and everything is just unwinding into chaos that Axel isn’t familiar with, but yet, doesn’t want to stop.

He feels so full, stretched to the brim with Saïx’s cock, filling him so nicely, feelings every place that the blue-haired man touches, every smooth slide of skin, the head that rubs against his prostate— _god_ , he could just stay like this, getting fucked for the rest of his not-life, feeling that cock forcing him open and spearing through him—just like this, just— _a thrust_ —like— _two more thrusts, a hard grind from Saïx that has Axel’s breath hitching_ —this—

He’s so close, precum beads in abundance at the head of his cock, which is desperately seeking attention, needing to be touched, and Axel almost whines, almost begs, but he doesn’t let himself, knowing that it would be used against him, so he thrust himself back on Saïx’s, trying to get the other Nobody in as far as possible, trying to reach the peak, the end. Right there, coiling in his stomach, white-hot as it begins to stretch, ready to snap and—

Axel’s balls are drawing up, his stomach is tightening, and he leans his head back and lets out a deep moan, breath hitching off before he locks up, feeling his orgasm finally blowing through his body to take him back to white-hot oblivion. His cock gives way and cum begins to shoot out, and the tightening of Axel’s body around Saïx’s body is finally the undoing. He shudders, buries his face into Axel’s neck, finding the skin there and _biting_ down, harsh in the grip, blood welling up under his teeth as his teeth break the skin, and Axel’s gives another horse, strangled cry as the pain from the bite radiates outward and combines with his orgasm, as a series of shirt, jerky gasps erupts from his body.

Saïx thrusts in, each time harsher than the other, trying to prolong his orgasm, stretch it out, and he throbs inside the red-haired man, releasing his own cum into the tightly-wound body around him, unaware that he’s pulling on Axel’s hair so harshly.

When everything finally recedes, when their lungs can properly breathe, when they can begin to make sense of the world around them for more than a moment at a time, Saïx withdraws, somewhat wincing at the overstimulation, but other than that, his face becomes a mask again, albeit still dominated by post-orgasm bliss. He stands, trying to mask the unsteady tilt to his legs, all the while trying to clean himself up enough to look presentable.

Axel hardly moves, having fallen onto his elbows, his knees immediately demanding he get off them or redistribute most of his weight somewhere.

There is nothing said, not even some chuckle, some offhand comment about getting their brains fucked out because what is there to say when you’re in a type of no-strings attached relationship? What is to be said, what can there be said to make it seem like everything is merry and back to normal like they haven’t spent an hour trying to fuck their away?

There, settling into a crevice in his chest, Axel tries to ignore that vaguely empty feeling, the one that’s always an unshaped feeling that hangs around the part of his chest where a heart should, and he thinks if he could just take one piece of what he felt moments ago and place it there, then maybe it wouldn’t feel like game over every single time this ends, like some part of him is trying to gain something from this.

Maybe it’s the partnership that’s been slowly disintegrating (he’s seen the look Saïx throws him whenever he chooses to hang out with Roxas or Xion, he can feel it; a hot, almost greasy look of contempt that slides up his back and around his shoulders, but still, he can throw just enough of a cocky front to get the other Nobody pissed, and whattaya know, everything is back to normal.)

Maybe they’re both guilty, maybe they’re both to blame, but like hell has that gotten him to no longer pay attention to the crumbling thing between them that once was.

He’ll bet the Superior would be thrilled to know that the longer they remain without hearts; the less Axel begins to care because there’s nothing to draw upon.

And Saïx—he’ll just be another lapdog, just another piece that is lost because neither of them can put up enough effort to stop this crumbling, to stop the decay, each day bringing new festering wounds.

It doesn’t matter, it’ll never matter, not as long as there’s a hole in his chest and Xemnas around reassuring that they are nothing.


End file.
